


sleepovers

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	1. this is not an undercover situation

When Kurt wakes up he realizes he's not in his own bed. This alone would be cause for concern, but then he tries to remember last night and fails, and _that_ is not something that has happened to him before.

It's dark outside, and the unfamiliar digital clock on the nighttable to his left says it's 4:30. Too early to be up, at which point he realizes his bladder is _killing_ him, and that's why he's awake. There's little he can do but to get up and investigate. Hopefully, no one will come at him with a shotgun, since he's not a burglar. He hopes.

He wonders what he did to end up on the left side of the bed - he always sleeps on the right side - and that leads to the second - third? - revelation of the night: there's another person in the bed. Sleeping. Kurt swallows and tells himself it can wait till after he's peed. It can't, but then again, wet boxer shorts aren't exactly an option either.

He's wearing boxer shorts. And a shirt. Which isn't his, but the shorts are, which means the chances are good, very good, that he didn't do anything _too_ stupid last night. His head swims when he moves towards the door. Maybe, Kurt thinks, he's thinking too much. Maybe he should just go find the bathroom, have at it, and go back to bed. Think about it tomorrow morning.

Maybe tomorrow morning, he'll remember what actually happened.

He finds the bathroom after two wrong doors - a study, and a bedroom with _people_ in it, actual living, breathing people, and thank god they didn't wake up as the shotguns are still a viable option - and feels a lot better after the necessary alleviation. He also takes a long drink of water from the tap. He's heard water's good for the head. He has no idea what a hangover feels like, but if headaches, dizziness and a feeling of sickness are part of it, he doesn't think drinking is for him.

At least the shirt doesn't sniff of alcohol. Then he realizes he's not actually wearing his own shirt and wants to bitchslap himself.

On his way back to the room with the comfortable bed - of which he still has to decide whether he wants to sleep on or not since there's another person already in it - he tries hard to remember. It sort of works, if by working is meant that he remembers the football game they won - "two out of four!" Finn had cheered along with the other guys, hitting Kurt's back hard enough to bowl him over, coughing. "That's, like! Almost half!"

He remembers Mike and Matt dragging him to the celebration afterwards, despite protests that no one really wanted him there. He remembers music and fruit punch, and the Cheerios, and Rachel - no, wait. Why would Rachel have been there? Maybe he'd been hallucinating already at that point. He remembers the fruit punch, though. Half a glass had landed on his to this point immaculate Fendi double felt coat - the thought still hurts. That coat was the pride and joy of October! And he still has almost a week and a half of October left.

The room is boyish. He can make out football posters if he squints, and the McKinley High team jacket - he has one of those now, even though it's not very flattering for his figure. He tries never to wear it if he can get away with it. There's the helmet, too, and this is when it dawns on him that he's sharing a bed with one of the guys, and oh, this is not good.

Then again, there is a Mariah Carey poster half-hidden behind the shelves and he could swear that's Adam Lambert on the cover of that magazine propped up on the desk, so at least he has blackmail material? Too circumstantial, though. Maybe if he can dig deeper -

"What?" the guy from the bed says.

There's a very loud second of silence before he sits up, and Kurt feels trapped like a rabbit before he realizes who it is.

"Mike?" he asks weakly.

"Yes," Mike breathes out. "Fuck." He clutches his head. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Bathroom," Kurt says. "Are you okay?"

"No. It's five in the morning, you weirdo." He slips back between the covers, pulling them up to his chin. "And my head's achey."

"Water -"

"In the morning. Come back to bed." Mike rubs his eyes, shifting to make space.

Kurt eyes the bed. But what are his choices, really. The floor? Going home? His dad is going to kill him, but Kurt has a feeling he's going to kill him less if Kurt doesn't wake him at five in the morning. Also, celebrating with the football team has to count for something? Right? Even if it ends with him in bed with a guy. Though if he plays his cards right, his dad might die of embarrassment, and that would mean no killing -

"Any day now?" Mike snaps.

Kurt bounces onto the bed and quickly gets under the covers. It's very cosily warm, mostly from Mike's body, and it smells nice, like laundry detergent and boy.

"Sleep now," Mike mumbles, and tugs him closer.

Kurt has a moment of total disconnect where he wonders when he ended up in an episode of 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' (where he's so Angelina Jolie, and if Mike wants the part, well, he'd better show some good moves) - but then Mike sort of _curls close_ and it feels really, really good, and his nose brushes Kurt's neck, and his hand is warm on Kurt's belly, and Kurt goes from hot to cold back to hot and his body just relaxes. Because Mike's clearly back asleep, and Kurt loves cuddling, and he's _never_ cuddled with another boy like this before, and no matter how great Brittany and Tina and Mercedes are at cuddling, this is so different.

Amongst all that excitement, he falls asleep, before he can even wonder what the fuck; and really, _Mike_?

~*~


	2. next time, we're having pancakes

Kurt is not the sort of person who avoids unpleasantness. He has been known to wait by the dumpsters for the football team to get the daily hassle over with so he can get on with his life; he has a priceless collection of Lucchese Pelle leatherwear that bears witness to that fact.

Kurt is also not the sort of person who wants to have things in his past that he's ashamed of (despite the no-name underwear incident of 1999). He loves drama, but only when it's happening to other people.

So when Mike turns the corner and steps into the hallway that is clearly marked as Kurt's - he made an outline before he came to school this morning, mapping his hallways against Mike's, hoping Mike was getting the telepathic message - Kurt ducks into the chemistry lab to his right, which isn't locked. A strange coincidence, and, he thinks, dangerous, but this time, life-saving.

He's late to English. Mercedes gives him a strange look when he slides into his spot next to hers.

He manages to find himself successfully side-stepping any and all issues. Because if avoiding unpleasant events is something Kurt doesn't do, side-stepping issues is something he's _fabulous_ at.

When he tells Mercedes this while they walk towards the high school cafeteria for lunch break, Mercedes tilts her head to the side. "Ain't that the exact same thing?" she asks.

"No," Kurt snaps. "And anyway, where were you Saturday evening?"

"I was helping out that other gay best friend I have," Mercedes tells him sweetly. "Don't get mouthy with me, little boy." Kurt pouts. Mercedes raises her eyebrows and asks, "What, you don't want to know all about it?"

"I know sarcasm when I hear it," Kurt sniffs, and heads for the line that will lead him to the French fries. He knows it's a fatal mistake that will cost him in figure and skin care, but he needs greasy, tasty sustenance right now, for all the emotional trauma.

Mercedes sighs behind him, and he can tell she's rolling her eyes, but he doesn't turn around, because Mike's entered the room, and Kurt's conveniently standing behind one of the biggest, tallest guys in school. He sinks into himself more, just in case it'll help.

"What. Are you doing?" Mercedes asks.

"Sh!" Kurt says. "Pretend like I'm not here."

"Kurt!" Brittany yells loudly in exactly this moment, waving at him from across the room, where she's sitting with Santana, Quinn, Puck and Finn. "See you in Glee club in the afternoon!"

Kurt winces and waves back. He sneaks a glance over to where Mike was before, but he isn't there anymore. Instead, he's walking past Kurt like he doesn't see him, and _that_ gives Kurt a painful tug in his stomach that turns into annoyance and then disappointment.

"Okay, _what_ is going on here?" Mercedes asks, and tugs his arm. Mike's heading over to Brittany's table, never turning his head.

"Um," Kurt says, and it's finally his turn to get food shovelled on his plate. "I'll tell you later?" he says.

Later, Mercedes corners him by his locker. "Talk," she says. She's kind of scary when she puts on the bitchface.

"I kind of might have a little bit sort of slept with Mike?" Kurt mumbles into his neckerchief.

Mercedes opens her mouth, then closes it again.

Kurt colors. "Not _slept_ slept. Just. In a bed. After that football celebration. The punch was spiked! I was hallucinating! I... still don't know what happened."

"I know what happened," Rachel says behind him, hands on her hips, chin pointing upwards as she musters him. "You should really thank Mike that you didn't end up date-raped, or worse. He promised he was going to be the perfect gentleman, get you into a bed, make sure your parents weren't going to beat you up - if they're the type, I wonder how he knew? My two dads would never do a thing like that, but I hear it happens in families, I really should see if the school has a support group for domestic abuse -"

"Rachel," Kurt interrupts her.

"Yes?" she blinks.

"Thank you. Class now."

"Kurt -" Mercedes tries.

"No time, see you both later," Kurt says and takes off, bag clutched to his side. He loves having friends, but he thinks it might be easier if they weren't quite as interested in the non-existing romance in his life.

Mr. Shue announces that afternoon that the next exercise will be to portray emotion in song. Kurt just loves theme sessions.

That's sarcasm. Kurt hates theme sessions. He already knows Rachel will hold a two-hour monologue about the importance of finding the right emotion inside one's heart and then she'll stare at Finn with a look of utter cockerspaniel devotion before falling into the refrain of a Disney song, and it'll make him want to throw up and then he'll feel bad for his clothes, and for once they haven't been ruined by slushie at this time of the day.

He goes through the others - Finn will sing about fear and being overwhelmed by life and how hard it is to be tall and perfect and popular, Quinn will sing about how great it is to be tall, and perfect, and popular, and Puck will sing about his love for the Darwinian theories or he'll grasp deeply into his heart and find that one song that will make sure everyone knows he's a romantic sap inside who has commitment issues the size of Africa, and probably the same financial problems.

Kurt has no idea what Mike will sing. Kurt doesn't know Mike all that well, he just knows Mike loves to dance, that he's a cuddler in bed - god, he wishes he didn't know that - and that apparently, he doesn't like Kurt anymore, now that it's the morning after. If he ever liked him before. Kurt assumed he did, because he was so insistent about the cuddling, and how can someone who smells so nice be a complete asshat?

He feels like singing a Dolly Parton song. Must be October.

"You're hurting Mike's feelings," Brittany says to him after Rachel has sung a Disney song, Finn has sung Coldplay, and Mike hasn't sung at all, because there was no time left today. Next session, Mr. Shue promises. Next session. Mike was one of the first to leave.

"What?" Kurt asks.

"You're hurting Mike's feelings," Brittany repeats more loudly.

"I don't have a hearing problem," Kurt tells her.

"Why did you ask, then?"

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. "Why am I hurting Mike's feelings?" he asks.

"He told me all about how you slept together and now you won't even talk to him. The first time that happened to me, I was really sad, Kurt. This is not a nice way to treat someone who likes you, it's how jerks and football players treat someone who likes them. Then again, you did go to tryouts for football, and made the team, so I guess I should cut you some slack -"

"I'm not talking to him because he's not talking to me," Kurt tells her. "The fact that I'm talking about this with you, and not him, sort of marks the center of our issue?"

"Don't be an ass," Mercedes says, coming up behind him, hitting him over the head. "You've been avoiding him."

"Side-stepping -"

"- the issue, I know, you split hairs with the best of them. Pity there aren't any hair-splitting Olympics. Now fix it."

"Yes. Fix it," Brittany adds, nodding seriously. "A sad Mike is not the kind of Mike who can teach me enough Spanish to pass my next exam."

Kurt blinks. "Mike's in Spanish?"

"Nope," Brittany says, looking at him like he's the crazy one here.

Kurt throws up his arms and walks off. He cannot talk with these people.

He runs into Mike outside the auditorium. Mike's leaning against the wall at his back, arms crossed in front of his chest and he looks... thoughtful. It's unusual. Kurt cannot remember seeing him without a gleeful smile or any other expressive look on his face, like a pissed off pout or a disbelieving frown. Or that sleepy, mussed look of blissed-out happiness that Kurt got to witness recently, that made his stomach twist, his heart beat faster.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundaries," Mike says, even though Kurt hasn't said anything. It must be because he stopped to stare at Mike's face.

Kurt tugs at the hem of his shirt and looks at his feet.

"I didn't realize you were so drunk that you weren't thinking straight. I'd have made the cab bring you home if I'd known. I swear, though, I never took advantage or anything." Mike sounds very embarrassed.

Kurt can empathize. He's cringing. "I know that," he says. "I have no idea if I was thinking or not. I just can't remember. It's not your fault."

"Must be my fault," Mike shrugs. "Otherwise you wouldn't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you." He has no idea what he is. Confused. Embarrassed. A part of him just wants to tell Mike it _is_ all his fault, and run with it. After all, he wasn't the one requesting _cuddles_. That was all Mike.

"Oh," Mike says. "All right?" He grins. It doesn't look real. "Cool. I'll see you around then?"

So when Mike was ignoring him all day, then, he wasn't being a jerk. Kurt knows how that makes him feel: relieved. He doesn't want Mike to be like all the other stupid guys he's liked before who turned out to be mean or just - he doesn't want anything, he tells himself.

But then his mouth speaks before his brain, as it so often does, and he says, "Wait. Why would you even take advantage of me?" He looks down at himself. "Even in that horrid football uniform, I don't look like a Cheerio." His chin rucks up and he stares at Mike. "_Please_ tell me I'm not that easy to confuse with one of the Cheerios." They have very little taste once you get them out of their uniforms. And even those are pretty awful.

Mike shakes his head. This time, his grin is more genuine. "No danger of confusion," he reassures Kurt. "You're unique."

Kurt feels himself redden, heat climbing up his neck. He has a feeling he's being complimented. And it feels weird, but good, in a rollercoaster/free-fall/swallowing ice cream too quickly sort of way. "Thanks?" he tries.

"Just don't - uh." Mike rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess I'm one to talk, but. Try not to get _that_ drunk again? Or at least. Have Rachel nearby." He grins hugely. "Rachel almost took my head off when I walked you off towards the exit."

Kurt reminds himself to be nicer to her the next time he sees her. "Thanks," he says, biting his lip. "For letting me stay over. My dad was more forgiving than I thought when I told him about you. I'm sorry about taking off without saying good-bye."

"You could have stayed for breakfast," Mike says.

"Thanks," Kurt says again.

They stand opposite each other for a few more heartbeats, taking turns sneaking glances at each other, back at their shoes, the ceiling, and back at each other, until Mercedes and Brittany finally exit the auditorium, deep in conversation, and Kurt has a feeling that they're starting to warm to each other more than he'd at first thought possible.

"We should go," he tells Mercedes. He owes her a ride.

"Did you apologize for hurting Mike's feelings?" Brittany asks Kurt, narrowing her eyes, while she takes his arm. "He really likes you, you know - ouch. Mike! That hurt!"

Kurt opens his mouth, but Mike quickly interrupts, saying, "Don't listen to her. We _made up_, Brit, come on, we'll be late," and he pulls her with him, while Brittany says, "But Mike, there's nowhere we have to be -?"

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "You're a moron," she tells Kurt, ruffling his hair, which he protests loudly, because his hair today is _perfection_, thank you very much.

"You'll be _walking_ home, if you're not careful," he warns her, hoisting up his bag and they follow Brittany and Mike, more slowly, another day coming to an end.

~*~


	3. sleepover

Kurt finds himself in a curious situation a few days after his auditorium talk with Mike. This might be because he is not used to being invited on dates. Well, he did have that brush with dating reality back when Mercedes decided to ignore her gaydar and go for it, but that was different. This time, first of all, he's being invited on a date by a boy. And second of all, he knows he should say yes, but he says no.

Richard's not a bad guy. He's very artsy and vaguely good-looking - and that's pretty much all Kurt knows about him. He also wears painter-pants to school, has a horrible haircut that doesn't suit his facial structure at all, and he's a dork, and not in the good way. He wears really dorky glasses that are not approved by the fashion police.

"I'm really sorry," Kurt hears himself say. And then, because Richard looks really sad all of a sudden (and Kurt is not that sort of bitch), he adds, "You're a lovely person, Richard. It's just that I like someone else."

Because that worked out so well with Mercedes.

~*~

"It's still Finn, isn't it?" Mercedes asks when he gives her a ride home after school.

The whole school knows that he has a gay crush now. Homosexuals can be _so_ vindictive. Paint spray really wasn't necessary though, in Kurt's opinion.

"It's not Finn," Kurt says, rolling his eyes.

"Everyone at school thinks it's Finn. You were really obvious there for a while."

Kurt bites his lip. "Does Mike think it's Finn?"

Mercedes' eyes widen.

~*~

Three hours later, his dad shouts, "Kurt! Phone!"

No one ever calls Kurt over the house phone. He has a cell phone and a Skype account for a reason.

"This is Mike," Mike says when Kurt hastens upstairs to get it.

"Oh. _Oh_," Kurt says back, and feels himself flush. He can feel his dad's eyes on his face and turns around to hide.

"Hi, Mike."

Mike clears his throat.

Kurt waits.

"I - I wanted to know if you. I mean. You don't have to. But I you wanted to, we could maybe go out sometime.

For food."

"Food," Kurt says.

"I like pizza," Mike provides helpfully. "And bananas." Then he pauses. "That's not an euphemism."

Kurt snorts. "If you say so."

Mike coughs.

"Oh. Yes. I mean. I would love to. Sometime."

"Sometime soon?"

"Saturday?"

"There's -"

"- football. Right, I forgot. You'll want to hang out with the guys -"

"- no, it's. If you want to do Satuday -"

"Friday?"

"Yes!"

Kurt nods. He can't know, but he has a feeling Mike's nodding too. He turns around and finds his dad standing in the doorway to the living room, watching him with amusement that vanishes the moment Kurt narrows his eyes.

"I'll pick you up at seven?" Mike offers.

"Okay."

"All right."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Mike hangs up.

Kurt stares at the phone for a while. Then his dad grins and says, "Was that you getting a date?"

Kurt points the phone at him. "No it wasn't." Then he turns on his heel and hurries downstairs to call Mercedes. He totally has a date.

~*~

"With Mike!"

"I know."

"Who's a football player!"

"I know."

"Who I've slept with. In the gentleman way. Though also in a drunk way. And who still likes me! And who likes singing and dancing!"

Mercedes groans. "Will you shut up about it already? Maybe you should think about what you're going to wear instead."

"Ohmigod, you're right! Friday is tomorrow! I have nothing to wear! Emergency shopping! Now! I'm picking you up in ten minutes!"

~*~

The next day is very strange. Partly because he keeps catching glances of Mike in the hallways for the classes they don't have together, and partly because during the class they do have together, Mike is friendly and even smiles, but keeps his distance.

Kurt leaves school that afternoon half-confused, half-giddy about the upcoming date.

He has bought himself a beautiful new Marc Jacobs coat, a blue-striped hot-pink t-shirt to go with it, and a new pair of skinny jeans, and he looks fabulous if he does say so himself. Then the doorbell rings. He's been lurking at the bottom of the stairs because going upstairs would have meant his dad giving him funny glances from the couch; however, staying in his room might have meant missing the doorbell. The idea of his dad opening the door is unacceptable.

"I got it!" he yells and skids to a halt before the door.

His dad didn't even get up from his seat. "Have fun, munchkin," he just says into his tub of ice-cream.

Kurt opens the door, smiling widely at Mike. "You're here!"

"Home by midnight, so no staying over for the night, and if you absolutely have to have sex, use condoms. Oh, and make sure he pays for dinner," his dad says, utter delight in his voice.

"Uh," Mike coughs.

"Let's go," Kurt yelps and pulls him outside, slamming the door shut behind himself. "Don't mind him. He lives to embarrass me."

Mike's shocked expression turns into a grin. "That's wicked."

"No it's not where's your car?"

Mike gestures at the small, but slick Toyota down the street. "My mom's. I promised I'd get it back home safe, so I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to take you on a crazy adventure tonight. Maybe another time, though."

Kurt gives him a smile. "Dinner sounds good for a start. Still time for adventures later."

~*~

They drive. Mike's music's playing silently enough to invite small-talk. Unfortunatly, Kurt's not the master of small-talk, so of course he jumps right into it with the big issues.

"Is this a date?" he asks, and winces.

Mike glances at him carefully. "Do you want it to be a date?"

Kurt shrugs and looks out the window. "You were the one who called," he reminds Mike.

"I - would like it to be," Mike offers. "But only if you want it to be one. If not, it's fine, it can just be friendly hanging out, I mean, I wouldn't want to ask any more than -"

"No."

"No?"

"No, I mean, you're not. It's a date. I want it to be a date. My dad thinks it's a date."

"Well, we wouldn't wanna disappoint your dad," Mike deadpans.

Kurt grins.

~*~

"Why now?" Kurt asks.

Mike has picked a classy yet comfortable restaurant that doesn't feel like a museum, but doesn't feel like home either. It's Asian cuisine, and if Mike likes it, it has to be really good.

Mike takes a sip of his water and tilts his head in a way that makes him look silly. "I heard the rumors and thought I might be the lucky one?"

"If you hadn't made that a question, I might have believed you," Kurt snorts. There's Beethoven softly strumming from the speakers nearby. Kurt shifts in his seat, looking around. There are mostly elder couples near them. There's a family down the hall at one of the bigger tables. It's definitely not McDonalds. When he glances back at Mike, Mike's looking at him with something like disappointment. Kurt thinks back to what they were talking about and it hits him. He rubs his neck. "That is to say. The rumors - it's not - it was Richard."

"Artsy kid? Walks around in blue painter trousers?"

"The same one. He asked me on a date and I told him no. But he looked sad so I added that it wasn't him, that I was into someone else." Kurt picks at his napkin. "Though..."

Mike bumps against his foot under the table. "What?"

Kurt gives him a short look. "If that's what made you ask me out, some good did come of that."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Mike smiles at him happily, all teeth and hope in his eyes, and Kurt smiles back, sure he must look about as pathetic. His stomach flutters; it's not from hunger.

~*~

The food is delicious. Kurt can't stop eating.

"I'm not usually such a pig," he tries to excuse himself.

Mike just laughs, and it's beautiful. The whole room lights up. Kurt wants to kiss him, but he's afraid it'll taste of chicken.

~*~

It's only half past eight when they leave the restaurant. He let Mike pay, because Mike insisted, and Mike had the convincing argument that he will not lie to Kurt's dad if he can help it. Kurt can accept that. He doesn't want Mike to get in trouble with his dad. He wants his dad to love Mike so they can get gay-married and have adorable little babies with Kurt's hair and fashion sense, and Mike's dancing skills and pretty face.

"I know what your dad said," Mike says while they slowly walk side-by-side. They parked a few hundred feet down the street. It turns out to have been a good idea. Kurt wants to hold Mike's hand, but that would be cheesy and Mike's not his girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Yet. "But we could - if you wanted, we could see a movie at my place?"

"As long as there's condoms," Kurt jokes.

Mike blushes.

"Be glad I didn't tell him it was your place I stayed at the night after the football party," Kurt says. He smirks. "He would have tried to invite you in for a 'chat'."

"Is that a yes?"

Kurt nods. Mike opens the door for him and holds it open with a gallant little bow. Kurt feels like a princess. He feels like a princess who just got the guy when Mike twines their fingers over the side of his seat, staring straight out onto the street.

~*~

They start kissing over ice-cream. Kurt hates himself a little for giving into the temptation - the ice-cream. Not the kissing.

The kissing starts with a soft slide of mouth on mouth, just touches of lips; Mike's not pushing. He must have done this a hundred times before, because he's popular and handsome and so so good at this that it makes Kurt's fingers tingle. He has to put them on Mike's neck to stop the feeling of numbness from spreading.

_Dancer in the Dark_ is running in the background, Björk singing about having seen what she was and what she'll be, but Kurt can't pay attention. Mike chooses that moment to tip them over onto his bed, the bed they slept in before, together, and Kurt's back thanks him for the intervention. He opens his mouth; Mike takes it as invitation to trace his lower lip with his tongue, making Kurt let out a little moan.

They start giggling at the same time. Mike's is more like laughter, leaning over Kurt to catch his breath, and Kurt says, "Am I doing it wrong?" He worries. He's never made out with anyone before.

Mike smiles, lifts his fingers to brush a strand of hair out of his face. Then he kisses Kurt's nose. "Won't catch me saying that."

Half an hour later, Mike's on top of Kurt, moving his hips to the rhythm of his tongue sliding into Kurt's mouth, and Kurt has to fight really hard not to come. His hands are underneath Mike's shirt, mapping out smooth skin inch by inch, sliding up his sides and down his spine, and every time his fingernail grazes him, Mike stops and shudders, grinding down harder to get more friction, his hard erection pressing against Kurt's own.

Kurt waits for another such moment, and then braves an attack, slipping his hand down and down and his fingers sneak under the waistband of Mike's jeans. Mike's ass is as smooth as the rest of him, and just as muscly, just as likely to make Kurt grasp for more. He wants to feel every square of Mike's skin, wants to lick over it all with his tongue until Mike melts from it.

He comes in his pants imagining Mike heavy in his mouth. Mike notices, stops rocking his hips for a moment in which he stares down at Kurt, surprised and awed and utterly turned on, and then he says, "Oh," and shudders harder, like his whole body's dancing, coming apart as well.

They fall asleep on top of each other, sweaty and sticky and without any regards for the time.

~*~

Kurt sneaks into the house at 2am in the morning, hoping to everything that is holy that his dad is asleep already.

He doesn't believe in god, and that's just as well because as far as Kurt's concerned, god never listens anyway.

"Bed," his dad says, turning off the TV to get up. "We're talking tomorrow." Then he walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind himself.

Kurt titters on the edge of begging forgiveness for not keeping his word; but then he remembers what his dad said about no sex, and, well. That ship's sailed as well. He's fairly sure he's projecting like a smoke signal right now.

He follows his dad's advice. He goes to bed.

~*~

"I'm in so much trouble," Kurt moans at Mike the next morning. It's going on 8am. He woke Mike up, which serves the bastard just as well. Kurt was kicked out of bed half an hour ago by his dad. He's spent the first fifteen minutes showering to get his eyes unglued.

"I sympathize," Mike says. "My parents gave me hell as well. You didn't stay for pancakes, _again_."

"I should have," Kurt says glumly. "At least I'd be going to my death with a full stomach."

Mike laughs. "Cheer up, boyfriend."

They both stop for a second, then Kurt makes a little sound in the back of his throat that does _not_ sound like he's protesting, and Mike says, "Um."

"He's not going to ban me from football," Kurt finally says.

"Right. So we'll... talk before changing?"

"Yes," Kurt says quickly, because talking is good. He loves talking. He loves anything that involves mouths and lips and tongue and any such actions.

They are silent at each other for a few seconds. Then Mike says, "We're - all right?"

Kurt breathes out. "Yes. Yes, I mean. Unless you don't want -"

"I want," Mike interrupts. "I really want."

"Good. Good. Me too."

"Awesome. Later?"

"Bye." Kurt hangs up. His dad's yelling for him to come to breakfast, and he has a feeling there will be another sex talk, because his dad knows exactly how any other kind of talk would have no effect whatsoever; embarrassing Kurt with details always, always works. Still, Kurt thinks and beams at himself in the mirror after putting on his daily skin-care and cremes and brushing his hair into perfection one more time. At least now, he has someone to actually try the stuff out on.

He checks his cell phone. There's a text message from Mike.

It reads:

_Ditching the football party tonight. Hanging out with my boyfriend instead \o/_.

Kurt doesn't even care that the grin keeps to the breakfast table. He has a feeling he won't be skipping pancakes tomorrow morning.

~*~

~End~

_~~ written March 2010_


End file.
